


This Is Messed Up

by Isaac_Potato



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: And it's basically the same in this story, Angst, Anxiety, Billy has anger issues, Bisexual Billy Hargrove, Bisexual Steve Harrington, But she's his counselor, Depression, Eating Disorders, Fluff, Forgive Me, Group Homes, He also has shorter hair, I gave the characters my issues and I feel so bad, Joyce isn't Jonathan's mother, M/M, Mental Health Issues, OCD, Outside characters, Steve never dated Nancy, au-modern era, because everyone ships it and i do too, because hes getting the help he needs, but he isnt a racist asshole, he's basically like Dacre except he's not because he's still Billy, just a nicer billy, side jopper
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-30
Updated: 2017-12-02
Packaged: 2019-02-08 15:22:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12867429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Isaac_Potato/pseuds/Isaac_Potato
Summary: Steve is suffering from a list of mental disorders. He goes to a group home as a last effort, and makes new friends who share all of his issues, including his very attractive roommate. He goes through a journey, with a spiritual counselor who believes in modern medicine, a security guard who pretends he doesn't care, and a nurse who secretly wants him and his roommate to get together. He just hopes this home works out.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is inspired by To The Bone from Netflix and also some prompts I made up in class instead of learning geometry.

He had made the water in the bath a bit too hot. He could feel himself overheating, but remained in the tub, his knees pushed upwards to make room for his tall frame as he kept his head under the water. The water was a dark blue from the bath bomb he had stolen from his friend- She probably got it at Hot Topic, considering the color- and bubbles covered his entire body. He never understood why it was weird for boys to take baths like girls did, with the fizzes and the bubbles and the good smells. It was relaxing. And boy, did he need relaxing today.

Through the sound distortion from the water, he heard the sound of his mother banging on the bathroom door he had locked before he got in. He stayed under the water for one more second, reveling in the quietness, then he pulled himself up, the rush of water pouring off his face and hair and back into the tub below him making a large splash. 

“Steve? STEVE!” He heard his mother screaming for him. He sighed.

“Yeah, mom?” He answered back. 

“You filled that damn tub too high! You can’t fill it past the nozzle! It’s coming out of the ceiling downstairs!” And with that she stomped off. Steve drained some water out of the tub until it was below the nozzle that clogged the drain. He looked at the time on his phone that was sitting on a towel on the toilet. 10:30. He still had 6 hours. He went back under the water.

At 4:30 he would be arriving at his new “group home.” He had been to a lot of live-in homes, (5 to be exact.) but this one reminded him of more of a mental hospital than a home. His psychiatrist swears that it’s a home, though, it’s just big. He’s only seen pictures, but he’s pretty sure that even in pictures live-in homes still looked like… Houses. Or at least a little more forgiving than a large building with white walls. All he knows is that he’ll have a roommate and there’s only about 10-ish people in his group. His age range is 18 to 22. From what his psychiatrist says there are three other 18 year olds, one 19 year old, three 20 year olds, and two 22 year olds. Give or take. 

He’ll also needs to get a new psychiatrist. Or counselor, whatever she wants to call herself. Getting new people, (we’re going to call them that for the sake of not getting into the whole psychiatrist/therapist/counselor debacle.) is always annoying. They get the chart from the old one, but you still have to start all over, explaining to them that, yes, you do have issues and this is what they are and how they make me feel and what they make me do. He’s also heard that this Person has… interesting techniques. 

His parents have tried everything to make him better. Sending him to Person after Person, home after home, in hopes that someone will know how to fix him. He knew he had issues, but the list is a bit exaggerated in his opinion. It is, as follows: Panic disorder, severe anxiety, paranoia, depression, a mild form of OCD and an eating disorder. It’s pretty fun. He doesn’t think the OCD is a necessary thing to bring up, but his last Person told him that he should never leave out a diagnosis, no matter how insignificant it may seem to him. So that’s his list. He’s a cocktail that spells disaster. People say they’re shocked he hasn’t offed himself yet. (Not to his face, of course, but he hears them as he walks down the hall.) Honestly, he’s surprised himself. 

He probably would if it wasn’t for his mother. She’s hard on him sometimes, but between work and a son who can barely get out of bed in the morning, always being rushed to therapy, or to homes, or to hospitals, he can’t really blame her for being stressed. If he killed himself, that may just be her breaking point.

He lifts himself out again, takes a deep breath, then leans back against the tub wall that’s cold from not having heat on it. The music he had playing is louder now, not being obstructed by his mother’s yelling, or the water filling his ears. Merry Happy by Kate Nash is playing lowly. He lets the music distract him. 

He is not looking forward to 4:30.  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
With all of his bags shoved in the back of his mom’s car they started the drive to the home. Some random song was playing on the radio, something that was currently on the charts, but Steve couldn’t hear which one it was, as his mom was talking over the quiet music. 

“And, Steve, honey, I know you don’t like to, but I really want you to try at this one, okay? I need you to tell me that you’ll really try to get better.” She told him. She said the same thing every time he went to a new home, and he always said the same thing.

“Yeah, mom. I’ll try.” And she’ll always smile at him, hopeful. 

It makes Steve feel like shit. 

They pulled into the parking lot and Steve sighed. He looked at the time. They were 15 minutes early. He took out his phone and started opening random apps, trying to waste time. He looked back at the clock. 13 more minutes. 

He had a few nervous ticks. He used to twitch pretty bad, but that eventually faded out. He moves his hands and feet a lot, like he can’t keep them still for two seconds, moving his feet in circular motions and rapidly moving his hands. It’s weird. He knows. Checking the time was a big one. When his anxiety was high he’d always have to know what time it is. Even if he checked the clock every 2 minutes, he needed to know. He actually didn’t know whether it was a nervous tick or if it was that OCD thing. Whichever it was, he really needed to stop. 

10 more minutes. His mom got out of the car and opened the back, grabbing his suitcase and bringing it over to him. He didn’t need a suitcase, so he packed up a duffel bag. The patients all wore uniforms that looked like light grey scrubs. They were allowed to wear special clothes if needed though. Steve brought his sweatshirt. And stuff for his hair.

8 more minutes. Now he was panicking that they were going to be late. He grabbed the duffel bag and walked with his mom. (He now felt stupid about the bag, as he should have put his hair stuff in a smaller bag and then worn his sweatshirt. Too late now.) They got to the doors and opened them to reveal a woman sitting behind desk. There was a security officer flipping through a magazine type book next to the desk. He had a beard and a very disinterested look on his face. The lady at the front desk looked up and smiled. 

“You must be Steve Harrington.” She said and started typing on a computer. Steve nodded lightly. “Alright, you’re all checked in. Hopper here will take you to Joyce, your counselor.” Her smile was too bright to be real. 

“Alright,” His mom turned him to her, forcing him to look her in the eye. “Be good. Please. This is your last chance. I need you to be in this one. Please don’t get kicked out, or leave, or upset the nurses. Just… Be on your best behavior. I love you.” She said and hugged him.

Steve hugged back with one arm and whispered back, “I love you, too.” His mom pulled back and squeezed his arms. She smiled, then he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned around to see the security guard. Hopper. He walked with Hopper to a hallway, looking back and seeing his mom wave at him. 

“Alright, Kid, welcome to the home. Do you know the rules?” Hopper asked.

Yes. “No.” He answered. “Uh, not really.” He said, after not thinking that “no” is not an appropriate response as it was too straight forward.

Hopper looked at him. Then started talking. “Well, they’re pretty simple. You have to stay a minimum of 6 weeks, unless told differently, but you can stay as long as you need after that. There’s a standard uniform, but if you have special clothes you can wear them. In addition, if you have special stuffed animals, or blankets, or foods, you’re allowed to have them. There’s only ten of you, there’s three other 18 year olds. You’ll all eat in the cafeteria, where there’s only one table. Bathrooms are locked for 30 minutes afterwards for the kids here with EDs. There’s four other age groups, 13 to 17 year olds, 23 to 28 year olds, 29 to 35 year olds and 36 and up. This section connects to all four of them, but you aren’t allowed to go into their sections. The only time sections mingle together is during rec time, which is outside, as long as it isn’t snowing, from 9AM to 8PM, but everyone has to be inside for meals. If you ever need anything, ask for V. She’s head nurse.” They stopped outside of a door that said Joyce on it, with flowers surrounding the name in bright colors. “I’ll also need to go through your bag. I’ll put it in your room, I just have to make sure there aren’t any sharp objects or pills.” 

“I don’t cut.” Steve said quickly. It’s true, he doesn’t, but Hopper is going to find the sandpaper tool he swears is for art, but when he’s in his bed at night he rubs it over his knuckles for a good five minutes. Or until it starts hurting. And Steve shouldn’t have packed it, really, but it was in his sweatshirt pocket. Nobody knows about it. Hopefully the art lie will work.

“Alright. I still have to make sure.” Hopper flashed a smile. A quick one. Steve handed over his bag. Hopper knocked on the door before opening it. “Joyce, new patient.” Hopper moved over so Steve could walk in. The office was kind of cluttered, but in a neat way. There were bright strips of cloth that looked like scarves draped in random places, and brightly colored orbs littered a shelf. He feels like he walked into a spiritual shop. Hopper closed the door, and now he was looking at his new counselor. Joyce. He hoped she wasn’t into some voodoo shit and was gonna do something to “cure him” that involved crystals and him swallowing flower petals or some crap like that. 

She smiled at him. He wished people would stop doing that. “Hi, Steve.” She said and motioned to a chair. He sat down. “Hopper explained the rules?” She asked. He nodded. “Alright. Well, you’re going to have a medical evaluation in a week or so. Just to know where you’re at. And you’ll have a mental evaluation in a few days. You take medication, right?” Good. No voodoo. Steve nodded. (He hadn’t swallowed a pill in months. He heard they can make you gain weight.) Joyce looked at him. “No, Steve. You’re prescribed medicine. Do you take it?” She asked. Steve stopped, looked Joyce in the eyes. She’d know. She knows the tricks of the patients. She won’t believe his bullshit like the other counselors he had would. He shook his head. 

“I’m not going to ask why. Things like that are boring, and I already know. You have an eating disorder. You won’t do anything if a side effect is gaining weight. Just know that the nurses monitor you. You don’t have to take the medicine if you really don’t want to, but they’re hardasses. Especially V. But she means well.” Joyce told him. There was a knock at the door. “Come in.” She called. The door opened. “That’s all I’m gonna talk about today, I’ll let you get situated. I want to see you tomorrow, though. At 10. After breakfast.” Steve nodded. “This is Billy, he’s gonna give you the tour.” 

Steve turned around, and his heart skipped a beat. “Billy” had short hair styled upwards and bright ass blue eyes. He gave Steve a side smile and his heart slowed. “Hey. You ready?” And that’s it. His heart stopped. 

Billy. Billy will be the death of him.


	2. I messed up

Okay so basically this is not the right story and won't get updates or anything so if you really want to read it go here http://archiveofourown.org/works/12867435/chapters/29390040


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